


and that's how it works, it's how you get the girl

by breaddalton



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breaddalton/pseuds/breaddalton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grant Ward is getting married to Lorelei, and he makes Skye his best woman. It all goes horribly wrong because he's not in love with Lorelei, not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and say "are you insane?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of some AU prompts that I have been peddling around. Specifically **"i know im supposed to be your best man/maid of honor, but maybe i should mention now that I’m in love with you"** and probably later on **"they said ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ so i’m speaking up"**. 
> 
> Title lyrics are from Taylor Swift's How You Get The Girl.

It's not that he doesn't like Lorelei. 

 

He does.

 

Sure, sometimes her voice grates on him. Sometimes she turns into a hell beast (the same one that Lance used to call Bobbi; not a good sign). Sometimes she reminds him just how haughty and spoiled she can be.

 

Or the sometimes when he catches her flirting with other men; wandering hands and wandering eyes are two different things.

 

It's not that he doesn't _like_ her.

 

(He'll keep repeating that to himself)

 

(He doesn't think he'll ever say he loves her)

 

It's an honest-to-god beneficial match. And up until recently, he couldn't imagine anyone else he'd be walking down the aisle with other than her. They've been dating for the better part of three years and inevitably got engaged. Not that it was ever a question about whether or not he would marry her; she was the kind of girlfriend who talked in future tense with immense confidence.

 

_Is this how it's going to be when we raise kids? They get to eat this trashy processed food?_

 

_Our wedding can never be on a beach, it's so cliché. Don't you think, Grant?_

 

_I guess we can get a dog, at the very least help us in the future. Test out our parenting skills._

 

For a girl who could never keep her eyes off of other men, she demanded quite a lot of commitment. But she was the kind of girl who expected things to work out. It was the plan from the first day they met when he introduced himself as "that" Grant Ward, from _those_ Wards. 

 

Plans were Lorelei's forte. 

 

–

 

His father loves her, as most people do. She's got a silver tongue and can charm the pants off of everyone in the room with a saccharine smile and an eloquence that would make Shakespeare weep. His mother is another story, her eyes flicker between Grant and Lorelei. "Grant, is this what you really want?"

 

She's not worried about the gold digger stereotype, Lorelei is from enough old money to set herself up for life as a spinster if she wants. She's worried about the other thing. 

 

His parents are each other's rocks, the constants, two sides of the same coin. And while his father will see everything right in someone, his mother is far more cautious. If he believed in soulmates, they would be it.

 

Once upon a time, he could nod with confidence that Lorelei was the best thing that'd ever happened to him. He could lay out their five year plan (something created about an hour after he proposed) of him going into law and then politics, like the rest of his family with her by his side as a power-trophy wife. She could tout her family name as another badge of honor among the upper echelon of the right wing. He could imagine the two and a half kids as he ran for Congressman or State Rep. 

 

But that was back before Skye came barreling back into his life. Single, and completely changed.

 

Back before Christian "injured himself in a skiing accident" with Anna. He threw his back out during some suspiciously acrobatic sex and was told by the doctor to stay off his feet, since the combined stress of his job and active sex life was not putting him in prime position to be best man.

 

It was Lorelei's idea to make Christian best man. Not that the big brother wasn't going to get a nice spot as a groomsman, but best man looked better in the pictures, in Lorelei's opinion. He might have asked Trip, or Thomas. But then Skye, in the way that she was best at, came back into his life without warning or foresight, and he couldn't remember why it was a bad idea to make the girl he had been carrying a torch for since they were in college together his best _wo_ man. He doesn't really register why Lorelei looked like she could dig her manicured nails into his chest and rip out his beating heart when he told her the **good** news. 

 

"What's wrong with Skye?" he frowned, looking up from the steak in front of him at the strawberry blonde across the table. "She's an international reporter, it makes me look good. She's a better replacement to Christian than any of my other choices." She was nothing like a replacement, but Lorelei didn't want to hear that. He'd spent enough time with her to know her reactions to things. "Imagine the conversation it will stir up, the founder of _The Rising Tide News_ alongside us. It would help my dad with the his Pentagon friends if I was seen rubbing elbows with the daughter of one of the founders of SHIELD Tech. Might even help the talks about those security contracts."

 

She fumed, crossing her arms defensively, glaring daggers into him across the table. "Skye isn't even affiliated with her father's company. If anything, she actively works to tear down corporations like SHIELD. She practically tore Hydra Fabrications apart in her last exposé. She's a scandal waiting to happen." Pausing, he could see the exact moment she decided to change tactics. Unfolding her arms, she reached for the fork and knife, wielding it more like a poised weapon than eating utensils as she carved into the quail in front of her. Her pursed lips and sly eyes do no favors for the typically flawless beauty that she exudes. "Plus, what if being seen with her ruins your father's plans? As I remember you telling me, Phil Coulson isn't your biggest fan. What if he takes this opportunity to turn against your dad?"

 

The notion, while uncharacteristic of a man like Coulson, was still a reasonable concern.

 

Shaking his head, brushing it off, he responded calmly. "Coulson is a fair man. He wouldn't let personal emotions get in the way of a professional deal. Plus he's only one-third of that company. Melinda May and John Garrett are also co-board members, and Garrett is a family friend."

 

She hadn't responded. She read him well enough to know that simply mentioning the possibility of breaking the hard-wrought contract between SHIELD and the Pentagon had jabbed a splinter of doubt in his own plans. But it wasn't nearly enough to assuage him from reneging on Skye's role in the wedding. Part of him was just glad to have her back, the other part didn't want to let her go.

 

Lorelei knew, sometimes even better than himself, how he had once felt about Skye (–how he still felt about her.) 

 

And up until now, it hadn't been a problem. But some things changed.

 

 


	2. broke your heart i'll put it back together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant breaks some important news to skye. something he probably should have told her about before he made her a part of the wedding party.

He realizes, not for the first time, that he's running before he can walk.

 

Metaphorically speaking.

 

He'd announced his decision about Skye as his best woman to Lorelei before he had actually had a change to confirm it with her. Or rather, before Skye even knew about the situation. It was a rushed decision, made on an impulse somewhere between "Hey I heard your back in the country!" and "Yes, we should totally go to lunch!" came the idea of hoping she'd stick around for more than a meal. She was never the type to do the casual lunch date anyway, so he took her acceptance as a movement in the right direction.

 

Grant is fidgeting, his leg is restless, his fingers drum the glass table of the cafe, his eyes search the streets for tell tale signs of Skye's arrival. He's nervous as hell and it doesn't help that he feels like he's about to sweat through his shirt sitting on the patio dining section of this café. It's all so he can catch that first glimpse of Skye. It'd be stupidly laughable, if it hadn't felt like he'd been waiting since the moment they separated. Three years was long for anyone, especially for people who had once seen each other every day, at almost every hour.

 

He spots her as she comes out of a car, with a dark messenger bag in tow. It looks heavy with equipment from some job she probably just finished. He feels a little idiotic lounging at the table watching her while she takes one hand and pulls her hair out from the messy bun holding it in place and turns her back on him to adjust herself in the reflection of a parked sedan. She still has the same half-cocked smile when she crosses the street and the length of the patio to greet him.

 

"Grant!"

 

He's forgotten how good it sounds to hear his name on her lips. He's forgotten a lot, but the hug she pulls him into brings certain vivid memories back. It surprises him, perhaps because it's been a while since he's had anything close to a genuine hug, but he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her. The hug, meant to be a something casual between two friends, endures. Can she hear his heartbeat racing?

 

If she does, she doesn't mention it. 

 

They break apart before he can run his hands through her hair, trailing down her back, memorizing what he's forgotten. 

 

"I can't believe you're getting married," she laughs, it would be condescending if it was anyone else, but he hears the incredulity. She doesn't need to add ' _to Lorelei of all people.'_  She'd said the same words to him when he first started dating her. She'd left and then started dating Miles not too long after that. Neither relationship was meant to be permanent.

 

"Yeah... it just happened."

 

"Jesus, you could sound more excited."

 

"It's just been stressful. She's got some high expectations and a ten-year plan after her five-year plan."

 

Skye raises her eyebrows in response as if to say, ' _that's what you get for marrying a Stepford wife_ '. Instead, "So, are you just playing the dutiful fiancé to her bridezilla?"

 

"Pretty much. I ran out of duties when I registered part of our wedding registry at Bass Pro Shop." He wished that he was joking when he thought it was a good idea, but the reaction from Lorelei was anything but humorous.

 

Skye, however, broke out into laughter. He felt a little lightheaded hearing it. "Of course, you did. Did Christian talk you into it?"

 

"Thomas."

 

"Even better," she cackled.

 

At the mention of Christian he saw his in, and went forward, quickly interjecting before she could ask more questions. "Speaking of Christian," she looked in mid-smile, waiting for him to continue. The sudden attention had his palms sweaty. "He kind of... got injured, so now I'm short a best man, andIwaswonderingifyouwouldbemybestman." The last part is jarbled together in hyper speed and followed with a muffled sound when he stuffed a cut of potato from his fork into his mouth. 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Skye's head ticks to the left a little. Her mind catches up with what he's saying as she watches Grant nervously chew the largest piece of potato she'd ever seen. "Wait, Christian got injured?" Better to start from the top, get the facts before she let her mind wander.

 

His face fell flat, as if he was expecting something more from her (well she knew what he was expecting, but she wasn't about to commit to an answer just yet). "Seriously? That's your question?"

 

"Excuse me for wondering what happened to your brother." Always the _best man_ , never the bride.

 

Not that she wanted to be the bride.

 

She definitely never imagined what it would be like to walk down the aisle towards Grant Ward.

 

(That would be insane given she was the one to walk out.)

 

"Right," he says, slowly. His face is trying to look unaffected, nonchalant, but he can't pull it off. He'd be a terrible politician, he sucked at lying. "Well, the story is that he 'threw out his back'." The air quotes has the investigator in her immediately curious as she leans forward in her seat. He mirrors her action, as if they're kids sneaking secrets with whispers and cupped hands. "But you know, off the record, he and Anna were celebrating... something," he gesticulates suggesting something salacious.

 

Skye lets out a laugh, clapping her hands together. She might feel foolish if the goofy grin on Grant's face isn't spreading from ear to ear. "Why does that not surprise me, at all?" They both feel the mood lightened, but the silence that falls between them makes it obvious he's waiting for some kind of answer. He shifts in his seat. Skye was content running around the world, half-vigilante half-corporate menace. No, she and Grant Ward were now traveling in different circles. She doesn't need this.

 

"Grant, I don't think I'm the best fit. I'm not even a man!" she humors, but the grin on his face seems to instantly disappear. "Why don't you ask Trip or Thomas? Isn't Fitz coming back from his research contract for the wedding?"

 

She tries to ignore the look on his face that likens a kicked puppy. He had a tendency to emulate the most emotionally manipulative expressions of a dog, something about those gold and amber flecks. Shrugging, he avoids her eyes, "I don't want them to be the best man. Fitz would barely have enough time, Thomas is still in college, and Trip spends half his time working with SHIELD. They've all got their own lives," he says, following it up quickly with, "Not that you don't have a life. I just, figured you just got back. Plus, we were good friends before you left."

 

It's such an odd request, her mind had been puzzling it together since he'd asked her. And since they had left things decidedly...incomplete, even the hug she had pulled him into had bordered on awkward considering their history. Thomas was a capable person, not some bone-head frat boy. Trip could take time off of SHIELD, not like they had any shortage of employees. Fitz would be back in a few weeks, surely he'd take up the mantle easily. He was making excuses. "I don't know, I don't think Lorelei would be too cool with some vigilante journalist as her fiancé's best man." 

 

Lorelei is rarely cool about anything, especially when it comes to Skye, but that's besides the point.

 

"No, that's the best part, she doesn't have a problem with it!"

 

Has he already told Lorelei? "Wait, does Lorelei already think I said yes?"

 

"Maybe."

 

"Really, Grant?" Apparently she doesn't have a choice in the matter. "Thanks for asking for my input."

 

Grant puts up his hand in surrender before reaching to touch her arm lightly in an attempt to calm her down. She'll admit she gestured a little over dramatically, but if it earns her a touch on the arm, she pathetically realizes she'd probably do it again. (That woman who was ready to dive headlong into bullets and terrorists is no where in sight.) "No, Skye. You can say no, if you want to," he promises firmly. "I just want it to be you. Yes, there are other people who _could_ be my best man, but I want you."

 

The pang in her chest reminds her that he just wants her as the best man, not as anything else.

 

"I missed you. This is our opportunity to catch up, to be together."

 

It's meant to persuade her to say yes, but all it does is remind her of the very reason she hadn't wanted to come home at all. The news of his engagement arrived with the realization that she was never really okay with Grant dating Lorelei. She had tried to supplicate those feelings with Miles, taking him around with her as her photographer and working out her issues about Grant with him. (She only moaned Grant's name once, maybe twice, during sex.) 

 

Miles, for his part, seemed aware of her feelings, if not understanding. At least for the time they were together.

 

To her friends, her family, the grapevine, she broke up with Miles a couple weeks ago before she came back to America. No one needed to know that it had happened the day she'd gotten the news about the engagement. Four months ago. This request is just another sharp kick in the stomach, to remind her that she missed the window.

 

Her silence makes him look worried, and he scoots forward in his chair, taking her hands in his. The sensation, having been robbed of it for three years, is cruelly intoxicating and comforting. "I know we left things badly in the past. I know what we had kind of fizzled out. But we've always been good friends. I need someone who knows me." 

 

And just like that, the good memories bleed in with the bad ones.

 

She is reminded of a night, in his bed, nearly half a decade ago. She's reminded of her own rash decision to run out on him after they both confessed exactly how they felt about one another. She's reminded of her running fast and hard from her emotions and tasting bitter regret almost instantly. It's not like he hadn't waited. He'd waited, and waited, and eventually Lorelei came along and it was made clear to him that Skye wasn't interested anymore. He'd been so upset when she had scoffed and sneered at the idea of him dating Lorelei. He'd told her that she had no ground to stand on, that Lorelei was a nice girl, and that if this was meant to be jealousy, she had lost the right.

 

Right. This is their opportunity to catch up. To be together, in the only way they seemed to be able to without self-destructing.

 

She smiles, sliding her hands out from his and covering them in a tight squeeze. She'll limit their physical touches from here on out, but she'll allow herself this. A test to prove how mature she can be. To prove that she's definitely moved on, even if she hasn't at all. "Okay. I'll do it," she says, and his face lights up in the most heart warming smile. "Only because you begged so nicely, and because Lorelei is ok with it," she teases.

 

"You won't regret it," he winks. 

 

She already does.


	3. remind her how it used to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grant and skye go to try on tuxes as a part of the groom/best man tradition. it goes pretty horribly wrong. (or right, depending on how you look at it).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely adopted the name for Grant's sister from all of the extensive fics that name her Rosie, SORRY THE NAME HAS BEEN TATTOOED INTO MY MIND AS ROSIE AND NOTHING ELSE. 
> 
> Also enjoy this pain and sexual tension. You know what they say, one step forward, eight steps back.

 

The first thing that is listed of what a best man should do (provided by Google and some site called "bestbro.com") tells her she should be going to a tux fitting with the groom. Skye finds herself waiting in her car outside of the tuxedo rentals, her knee bouncing, shaking her keys in her hand as she waits for Grant to make his appearance. It's been a thirty minute wait, and as of fifteen minutes ago, he was officially late. Glancing back at her phone periodically, she'd been waiting for the call to cancel the meeting. Perhaps he had persuaded someone to do this job other than her. It wasn't reluctance at spending time with Grant Ward, it was watching the nails in the coffin, realizing that all this was borrowed time. Within the next few months he would be happily married to Lorelei and she would turn back into "just Skye".

 

Not that she was anything more with Grant, he didn't define her.

 

But she was quickly turning into "the unmarried one" in their group of friends, and while she had been proud of her title as a single woman (back when it wasn't an endangered species) soon people would start focusing more on their marriage than going out, and then they would have children and start talking about diapers and preschools, and it would be all downhill from there.

 

A text bubble lights up on her phone and she tries not to immediately check it (she fails, damn near drops it) and with a mixed feeling of relief and frustration reads that Grant is caught in traffic and will be there in no more than fifteen minutes. He follows up seconds later with a 'have you started trying on anything yet' and she realizes that they are on a schedule and that she should still keep to. 

 

"Shit," she curses, yanking her purse up and her coffee before jumping out of the car and crossing the street haphazardly. She looks nothing like a best man walking into a tux shop with her silk shirt and a fitted blazer. The place is surprisingly nice, and she can't imagine that Grant even knew about this hole-in-the-wall boutique. It had Lorelei written all over it. Entering, she is immediately greeted by a man with sharp chiseled features that he looks more model than sales associate. The boutique is incredibly masculine, from the dark cherry wood varnish to the buckskin padding detail, she has never looked more out of place. "I think there's a reservation for Grant Ward?"

 

The model-man glances at the list before ticking off Grant's name with a small polite smile. "Ah, yes. And are you the future Mrs. Ward?"

 

Skye's eyebrows shoot up and can't help the flush of red on her face as she quickly shakes her head, laughing nervously at the same time. "No! Oh god, no. No, sorry I'm not. I'm his best man... uh, best woman." It sounds so stupid, but the amused look at the handsome man's face gives her a run for her money. He is incredibly charming to look at, despite having said barely anything to her. She laughs inwardly when she realizes, for a second, that he looks like he could be Grant Ward's Italian cousin.

 

"I apologize for the confusion, it was my mistake," he says, so politely she feels like she needs to apologize too. Instead, she shrugs, unwilling to show weakness in the fancy man cave, and tilts her head a little to see what is behind the atrium that they are standing in. "You're a little late for the appointment time, so I might have to leave you two in there before the tailor can meet with you. We have a fully booked day today, so I am sorry in advanced for the wait. There are refreshments within the dressing room and ample room for testing out our pieces." 

 

He opens a drawer and pulls out a small golden key, marking something in a book. "It seems that there have been a few pieces that have been chosen for you two today, so I'll let you browse the selection and try some on while we wait for Mr. Ward." Exuding niceties, Skye simply nods in response and takes a small golden key with a thin medallion attached to it with a delicate number 4 in script on it.

 

Walking straight through to the back, guided by model-man, he opens the door to an octagonal room with the same warm lighting, beige fabrics, and dark wood. There are mirrors on almost all the walls save three that include the door and two closets with tuxedos neatly hung. Closing the door behind her and thanking model-man, she sets the keys down and wraps her arms around her shoulders within the cold drafty room that felt like it was going to swallow her whole. From the slick suits to the whiskey glasses, she's starting to wonder if she just walked into a very fancy bachelor pad.

 

She plucks a bottle of water from the selection of refreshments and pulls a suit out of the rack. None of them have been tailored yet. She wonders briefly if she's going to be wearing some sort of tux, never considering the possibility until now. Groaning inwardly she wished that there was some other reason for her displeasure other than the fact that Lorelei would be in a gorgeous dress and she'd be in a pant suit. Jealousy turned her into a green monster and she hated the way it looked on her. 

 

Yanking out her phone she tapped up an old song, one of her favorites, before throwing her bag to the side ottoman and starting to unbutton her pants, slipping off her blazer as she sashayed to the chair and tossed her clothes down in a pile. Humming to herself, she unhooked the small clasp at the nape of her neck holding the silk shirt up and flipped it over her head and, tossing it back.

 

 

 

 *

 

 

 

 

The last thing he does while idling in the traffic lane is text Skye to ask her if she's tried on anything yet. Her reply is ambiguously telling, 'Uh... one or two things. Nothing promising, yet.' With any luck she was in her car waiting for him to arrive so she didn't have to go in alone. He'd selfishly asked her to pick up Christian's mantle, something that even made Christian bark in laughter, while he nursed a twisted tendon. He had to watch while his two brothers grin like idiots, while he wondered to himself what the merit was in telling them in the first place. He'd replied to her, asking for some photos of the selections she'd tried on and the text had been left completely unread. Unsurprising.

 

The next few minutes was him navigating the streets of Los Angeles, making sharp turns left and right before screeching to a halt in front of the most inconspicuous tux shop in the world. He'd passed it twice before realizing that his GPS hadn't made a mistake. Sighting Skye's car, he parked a few cars down from her and jumped out, locking the door behind him as he made quick work of crossing the road and walking into the store. He looked disheveled. 

 

Three hours planning wedding things, from invitations to dance classes to table seating, he's been run ragged. There's a posh man standing as a receptionist. His smile is suspiciously genial, and Grant feels just a little uncomfortable because of it. "Mr. Grant Ward?" the man (more of a robot judging by the tone of voice) asks him, inconspicuously pulling a key from a drawer.

 

Grant just nods. Before quickly tacking on, "I think my best man got here before me."

 

"Yes, the best _woman_." Grant hates the smirk on his face immediately. Best woman is a paltry title but it's something that always seems to make him and Skye chuckle. It's more their inside joke than anything, and they haven't had a chance to have enough inside jokes for this one to be taken by Ken Armani. "She's already in the dressing room. You arrived a little late for your appointment, but feel free to try any of the suits and the tailor will come when he is done with our walk-in client." He hands him the key and directs him towards the back.

 

He nods and waves a thanks, deciding to put his petty and unreasonable dislike of the receptionist behind him, instead focusing on the task at hand. While they were supposed to be trying on tuxes together (they meaning the groom and best man) he hadn't confirmed if Skye wanted to wear a tux or a dress, one that might make her feel more comfortable. He considers what to tell Lorelei since she seems set on suits and dresses and it has already been like pulling teeth to get her to come to grips with Skye as a part of the wedding party.

 

Inserting his key into the lock, he turns the knob and pushes the door open almost instantly regretting his decision not to knock beforehand. There's music playing from her phone, loud, some kind of swinging jazz, and she is in the cruelest, most diabolical, set of bra and panties that he has ever had the pleasure of witnessing with a white button up left wide open as she serenades herself in the mirror, swinging her hips. Soft lilac lace seems to cover everything and nothing at the same time, the color only a few hues lighter than her naked skin.

 

Thankfully to her credit (since he was momentarily stunned silent), she jumps ten feet in the air as looking so shocked to see him, cursing a "Fuck, Ward!" that follows as she makes quick work of covering herself up with a jacket immediately. She seems so focused on covering herself up that he takes the time to quell his racing blood, feeling the familiar shot of lust that goes straight to his groin. Turning around, albeit too little too late, he backs up into the room closing the door. No need in Ken Armani also seeing her like this. His heart is pounding and it doesn't stop when he realizes that this is _their_ changing room. The rooms aren't normally reserved for unisex changing. 

 

"Holy shit, Grant. You could have knocked!"  

 

"You can turn back around now," she mutters, sounding a little embittered. Wrapped in a jacket long enough to cover her just past her upper thigh, Skye taps her phone to pause the music. 

 

He tried not to let the functioning parts of his brain run wild with fantasies. "How the hell was I supposed to know you'd be half naked?"

 

"Duh, it's a changing room."

 

She sounds impossibly juvenile, and she knows it, but she stands her ground, crossing her arms and squaring her stance. The jacket makes her look like she's playing dress up.

 

Clearing his throat, he looks at the rack of tuxes and wonders if there is any distinction between what he should be wearing and what she should be wearing. The suit she has on looks like it's swallowing her whole. Setting his keys down on a table and his wallet, he gestures to the suits. "Find anything you like?"

 

Shrugging, she bites her lip a little as if she wants to say something but can't.

 

"You don't have to wear a suit, if you don't want to. You can totally just be in a dress, or you know, wear whatever you want."

 

"No, it's not that," though she seems to have relaxed a little at his comment. Walking over to the rack of suits, he follows suit trying not to think about the fact that she's wearing next to nothing underneath the jacket that is wrapped around her like a robe. She reaches the rack and flips through each suit. "It's just... these suits are kind of... more Christian's style than yours."

 

"Too political?"

 

"No, just... doesn't feel like you."

 

He wants to ask her what he feels like to her, but he's already caught himself gazing at her. Watching the small details in her movements as she runs her fingers over the smooth textiles of the jackets. "Aren't all tuxedos basically the same?"

 

She shrugs again. "Maybe. I just don't imagine you in a penguin suit all buttoned up. I think you look good right now." For the average person, it sounds like a backhanded compliment given how ragged he looks, but the way her eyes run over him feels like detailed honesty, and it rakes at his insides. She's such bad news, but he can't seem to let her go. They lock eyes but it's for a brief moment, before a goofy smile paints her face. "Uh... not that anything would help with that face. You're doomed either way, no hope of looking attractive with your monstrous bone structure." She pinches his chin between her thumb and forefinger like a nagging aunt with a scrunched up face. 

 

There's a knocking at the door, and they both start.

 

"Mr. Ward?" The voice sounds different from Ken Armani, probably the tailor.

 

Skye has a look of a deer caught in the headlights as she rushes to her black pants on the chair and slips them on hurriedly. Grant looks away out of propriety and replies back, "Just a second!" 

 

A minute later, Skye is in a silk shirt that forms a sloping halter at her neck. In some ways it's worse than the bra and panties. The tailor walks in and then it's Grant Ward on display. The tailor, an older man with grey and white hair, manages to look sophisticated as he measures Grant's inseam, which Grant looks away to distract himself from the fact that some older gentleman is a couple inches away from diddling him in front of Skye. When he finishes, he scratches down the numbers in his note pad, and motions to Skye. "Will you be fitted today as well, Miss?"

 

They look at each other, both unsure of the reply. She'd never affirmed if she was wearing a suit or a dress, they had been a little distracted. But Skye recovers quickly, shaking her head. "I'm here as moral support. I'll send you my measurements after we decide on a style today." The tailor nods in reply, making a note of it. Ever the diplomat and the quick thinker, Grant catches a wink and a thumbs up from Skye as he is being lead by the tailor to the rack of suits. 

 

"Your fiancée chose some styles for you to try on today, have you found anything that is to your liking?"

 

Grant doesn't notice Skye behind him, peering over his shoulder until she speaks up from between the two of them. "The charcoal grey one is nice, and that black one with the matching diamond weave shirt. I think those would pair with the white gold cufflinks that Rosie got you a couple of years ago." The tailor nods and pulls them from the rack, handing them to Grant before he has a chance for his mind to catch up with what is happening. 

 

The next hour and a half is him being tailored for the two jackets and pants, only for Skye and the tailor to agree that he looks better in the black than the grey. Lorelei does the same when they're trying on suits for him, but it doesn't bother him when she runs a hand along his arm to check the width and fit of the jacket like it does when Lorelei seems to be correcting the work of the tailor. When it's finally finished, the tailor ducks out after giving them a date to pick up his tux and a number for Skye to send her measurements to after she has them.

 

"Looks like I didn't even need to come," Skye says as the door closes and Grant is pulling his pants back on. She sounds a little melancholy, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. She walks over to the other suits hanging on the rack and thumbs through them with one hand aimlessly looking away as he gets dressed.

 

She's been distant since he walked in. Even her teasing had felt a little stilted. "Hey, don't say that, you were more help than anyone else would have been. You know I'm terrible with this. I am a plain black suit and tie kind of guy. Not a tuxedo wearing expert. I would have never even thought about matching the cufflinks." Though he realizes that she picked the one suit he would have felt comfortable in. The other weaves and shades were experimental at best and he had gulped at the selection when he had first walked in. 

 

Sighing, he walked over to Skye when she didn't turn around. "Are you okay, Skye?" The question left his lips before he could fully comprehend what he had asked.

 

She turned around to look at him, backing up a little when she realized how close he was to her. Her face unreadable, her lips pressed in a line and her eyebrows furrowed. For a few seconds, he wondered if he asked her the question or if it was all in his head. "Why the hell am I here, Grant?" The change in mood was so quick, it startled him.

 

"What are you talking about, you're my best--"

 

"Man. Yeah, why the hell did you make me your best man or woman or whatever? We haven't seen each other in a fucking long time. I've been overseas, and we never talked once during that time."

 

"Because you were busy! But you're one of my best friends. I told you why I asked you." She sounds harsh, cursing at him. How did they get from cufflinks to this?

 

Her expression changed from clouded to upset. It started sounded more like the Skye he knew than the girl he'd been talking to for the past two hours. " _No_. You gave me excuses. We _used_ to be best friends. Whatever the hell we used to be, we're _not_ that any more. You didn't even tell me when you got engaged to Lorelei. I had to hear it from Jemma!" 

 

"You were dating Miles at the time." It sounds like a non sequitur, but the words weigh heavier than that. He tries to keep his tone even, despite feeling attacked. It doesn't go unnoticed by Skye, not at all.

 

"What the hell does that mean? What, because I'm dating someone I don't get to know about your life? You're the one who called us friends, why can't a _friend_ be informed? You never contacted me about the wedding until after Christian got his back messed up. I got your shitty invitation in the mail like I was some distant relative you had to invite without a choice!"

 

"You know what it means, Skye," he responds sternly. He doesn't address her other comments because they both know the root of this issue, the venomous disease sprouting in their 'friendship'. "You ran out on me. What the hell can we be if not just friends?" The word sounds horrible on his lips, like something he never wants to associate with.

 

She frowns, upset but struggling to find words that can counter him. She's holding back some part of the truth. He can tell from the way she seems to think through her thoughts and pull out the most effective argument. "I didn't run out." It sounds nothing like her. She sounds defeated and petulant.

 

"Is that the best you can do?" he prods, desperate to coax out some source of truth from her.

 

Looking away, Skye shrugs, looking furious. "What the hell do you want me to say?"

 

"Something. Don't avoid this."

 

There's a beat. A pause, and she looks like she's going to run. She's going to run all over again. But instead she looks up at him, her eyes are wet, holding back tears. His heart breaks, he wants to touch her face and wipe them away before they even fall, but he stands his ground out of hubris. "I wasn't sure." There's another pause and for those seconds, he wonders if this is all she's going to say on the subject. "I didn't know what I wanted, and being with you freaked me out. I didn't know what was going on in my head, and after that night I didn't know if I had left us in shambles or something."

 

That night. It had played over and over again in his head for the past years. It wasn't just the sex. They had been doing the same old dance around one another for a few years, and when they finally let the temptation swallow them whole it had been everything they'd wanted. At least that's what he thought. Only for him to wake up in a bed alone, and find her avoiding him for the next few weeks. He knew she'd been scared, so he gave her space, told her he'd be there when she wanted to talk. Months passed by, and he rarely saw her. Then one day it was like they had never done anything more than joke with one another, the old Skye was back and he couldn't find any other version of her. Not the version of her that told him she had feelings for him. That smiled when he said he felt the same. 

 

Another month passed before he finally started dating Lorelei. "You didn't leave us in shambles," he convinces her, involuntarily wiping away one tear that manages to roll down her cheek, hubris be damned. She doesn't flinch, just closes her eyes, her face leans in slightly to his touch.

 

"I was a coward. I kept wanting to say something, but I kept putting it off. I even gave myself a deadline to confront you and confess to you what I felt. But when the day came, I couldn't do it. Everything was awkward between us, and instead of talking about it, I tried to forget it. Then you started dating Lorelei..." At the mention of her name, she backed up a little, away from his touch. She runs a hand through her hair in frustration, the hairsbreadth of space between them is so easily closed but she manages to make it feel like an ocean. "Maybe I did run," she admits, looking away from him, eyeing the room, exasperated. "Why the hell am I here, Grant? Why am I your best man? Why do you even want to talk to me?"

 

Logically, he shouldn't want to. When he realized she had broken his heart, he promised that with Lorelei it would be different, and it was. They'd never been become what he and Skye were, and she seemed happy to maintain that distance between them. But logic played no part in whatever it was between Skye and Grant. "Because," he said, pausing to find something to fill the sentence. "Because I need you."

 

It's so plain and simple that it feels like a weight off his chest. The confession he hadn't been able to make years ago, the one he wanted to when they were nothing but Skye and Grant together. Her expression softens completely, something like hope reflects in her eyes. The defenses are down, both of them are at a cease fire. He wants to say something else, something more substantial, but she tilts her head up and without warning plants a kiss on his lips. It's supposed to be chaste, but the contact, the taste of her lips, brings a chain reaction.

 

She pulls away a little before he pulls her in at the waist for another kiss and responds by drawing her hands up to his neck. It's instantaneous and she runs her fingers through his hair, the touch likened to fire branding his skin. It escalates, quickly. The taste of her is a drug; he coaxes her lips to part for his tongue and deepens the kiss. A growl emits from his throat as he turns them and presses her up against a mirrored wall. She meets him with equal intensity, biting down on his lower lip before imploring him with her tongue. Her hand continues the agonizing motion, combing through his hair and along the nape of his neck with her fingers, while the other palms his chest, running down the length of his torso. He shudders, eating in the delicious sensation. Grant pins her against the mirror, while he lifts her and she responds by wrapping her legs around his hips. He was suddenly unspeakably hard, and the reaction has him involuntarily grinding against her, the friction gives some measure of relief while tearing it away when a moan slips from her lips.

 

"Skye," he breathes, his mouth trails down her neck, reaching the high border of the halter and wanting nothing more than to rip the fabric apart. He gropes over the silk at her flat stomach and slides up along her side, teasingly avoiding more intimacy and drawing a huff of frustration from her lips. She bucks against his hips and he pushes back in response. God, it's sweet agony.

 

His heart is pounding and his head is buzzing. She rakes nails down his back as he gives up trying to undress her and meets her lips again.

 

There is a smart knock at the door that they miss the first time, both muddled by the sensation of one another. 

 

Another knock, louder this time. "Mr. Ward? Are you dressed?"

 

Skye breaks away, pushing him back and untangling her legs from around him. He almost whines in disappointment. But her expression, completely shocked, sobers him almost immediately. Skye is flushed, her lips are swollen from his kisses, her hair is messy, and he can see something of the same thing in the reflection of the mirror they were pressed up against. The raging hard on refuses to be forgotten, but the moment is over. Shame washes over them both when the third knock is coupled with a concerned sounding, "Mr. Ward?"

 

Skye looks away again, avoiding his gaze, and pulls her hair back, rushing to grab her blazer at the chair and her purse.

 

"Skye, wait."

 

She shakes her head, unable to even look at him, as she reaches for the door and opens it to Ken Armani's concerned face. She edges around him, and throws Grant one final look of something resembling humiliation, before he hears the sound of the front door open and shut. 

 

Like he said, bad news.

 

 


	4. stand there like a ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lorelei leaves on a business trip, skye has to step in at dance lessons after the incident at the tux fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, it's time to deal with that thing that happened last chapter. also say hello to raina, and yes she is most definitely at this class with gordon. IN MY MIND THEY ARE ALREADY OTP DESPITE ONLY SEEING THEM TOGETHER ONCE. also, sorry this was meant to turn out a little better than the last chapter, LITTLE DID I KNOW. oh and a lot of stuff happens, so gird your loins.

The following week feels like a year, and somehow without speaking more than ten words to one another, Grant has his arms around Skye.

 

Thankfully the situation is so stilted due to Skye's poor skills in ballroom dancing that it's too confusing to be awkward.

 

His hand is guiding her from the small of her back while they follow the steps of the dance set out by the instructor. For his part, he'd gone to the lessons for weeks and mastered most of it, though he had already had a past in ballroom. The Wards were all forced to learn it as children, and while he'd never heard the end of it when he told Skye in college, it seemed the tables had turned in this case.

 

Skye, despite her skills on other dance floors (he tried not to think of the last time they went to a bar years ago), is wrestling a different beast all together today. Her coordination is spotty, and he watches her as she counts the three steps in her head, reading each move she makes. 

 

It's supposed to be Lorelei here, but somehow his unemployed fiancée finds herself on a flight to Rome within hours of him returning from his tux fitting. Her father's work overseas pulled her back to the cushy job she enjoyed managing public relations, before she had donned the mantle of future housewife. The "emergency," as she calls it, pulls her away before she can pry anything from him when he returns from his fitting, and leaves him alone with some painfully unwelcome thoughts.

 

Although he spends the totality of their relationship committed to Lorelei, he's not an idiot. Sometimes she simply can't resist and it's been more than a couple times that he's caught her red handed. It stings, intimate betrayal from a woman who doesn't seem phased by infidelity on her end, yet colored with jealousy at the simple mention of Skye. _Its just not the same Grant, you know that I'll always come back to you. This won't happen when we get married. I promise._

 

Her promises always have a way of feeling backhanded. 

 

Her departure leaves him with more frustrating questions than answers. While she's gone, he's left with a list of to-do's for the wedding; the top of the list includes the continuation of his lessons. With how militantly she drilled him in the steps, he was starting to dread the act of going to dance class.

 

Now he's dreading it for an entirely different reason.

 

When he tells her he is lacking a partner, her lips curls in that way that when she has a well-prepared answer ready in the chamber. _Well isn't that what a best man is good for? Especially when she's a girl?_ she shoots back at him. What little time they spent together after he returned from the fitting was enough for Lorelei to pick up on some changes. She asks about Skye often, referring to her as a girl and with the same curled smile on her lips. She seems to immensely enjoyed the act of watching him squirm, something Christian jokingly referred to as her being more a wife than a bride. 

 

He is right. Lorelei never approaches their relationship as anything other than a guarantee. He would never turn to anyone else, and she could turn to whomever she wanted. Somehow he manages to feel like the second-best to her, but then with Skye in his arms he realizes Lorelei is always going to feel like second-best to him. 

 

"Maybe instead of counting it as one, two, three, you count it as quick, quick, slow," he offers. Skye's eyes are fixated on her own feet and the steps that Grant had drilled into himself years ago. A small nod comes from her as she mutters the words 'quick, quick, slow'. He had remained an unresponsive partner up until now. He'd held her hand and led her lightly, but nothing that formed commitment. When he asked her to come with him to the dance class, she had somehow reverted back into a distant Skye. She agreed, when he had mentioned that he really had no one else to ask, but it felt like pulling teeth.

 

For her part, she keeps her distance from him. His text ( _I'm sorry about today_ ), sent later that night, remained unanswered, getting nothing but the notification that she had read the note. Days passed until he was able to work up the courage to ask her for her help on the dance lessons. To which her response was a simple _okay_ and nothing more. But now they really couldn't avoid one another, being inches apart and forced to coordinate together.

 

The waltz that is playing is slower, to initiate the dancers with the steps. But as the instructor switches it to a sweeping tempo, Grant realizes being the unresponsive partner will make this ten times worse for her. Strengthening his hold on her, he pushes forward in a leading step, firmly guiding her in the waltz. Skye looks up at him, surprise reflected back at him as she miraculously falls in step with him. Behind them, the instructor claps the beat as the other couples swirled.

 

"Excellent form, Mr. Ward," the instructor calls out as Grant felt a bit of a blush creeping up.

 

A small smirk appeared on her lips. "I guess I should take back all the crap I used to give you for ballroom dancing as a kid?" she jokes, speaking up for the first time since they had embarked on this awkward class together. 

 

"I'm glad my skills impress someone."

 

She chuckles a little, "Let me guess, Lorelei thinks you could do better."

 

He's surprised she is so on the nose, and nods admittedly in response. "She makes it feel like I'm entering a competition not a wedding reception."

 

A small smile. He wishes he could bottle the expressions up and keep them for a rainy day. It instantly reminds him of better times. "Sorry, I'm probably a step down. My waltzing skills are not nearly as great as my skills with the Electric Slide."

 

Grant laughs in response, thinking to himself that she has nothing to worry about as far as her dancing goes. "It's nice not to have someone telling me that my steps are too broad or my posture needs correcting. Sometimes it feels like Lorelei should do the leading."

 

It is the longest conversation they've had since the dressing room, and it manages to feel comforting and alien at the same time. Their steps are in sync and conversation flows a little easier between them as he sweeps them from one side of the room to another. Silence falls between them as she merely smiles wistfully in response to his comment, but he feels her body relax just a little at the relief of tension.

 

Somehow Skye has come barreling back in his life, and without Lorelei to occupy his mind at home, he spends his free time catching up on where Skye has been for the time they were apart. Longer stints in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, reporting on government and civilian discord and military exploits. Pictures from the Rising Tide news page detail horrific bullet torn neighborhoods and the eloquent dictation of events by Skye; knocking down private military companies and weapons manufacturers with each article. He tries not to let it grate on him that under every photo seemed to be 'Photo Credit: Miles Lyndon'. Jealousy runs rampant within him these days.

 

His hand is poised on her back where the red dress she is wearing cuts out sections to reveal bits of skin. The dress is unforgivable, in his opinion, scarlet with a beautiful sweeping skirt; it manages to look demure and scandalous at the same time. But he is focused less on the way the dress looks, and more on what his hand is rested on. His finger grazes over something that feels like a scar on her shoulder. Round and raised, it healed in a nasty memory of some past pain.

 

Frowning, he deliberately runs his finger over the scar, guessing its circumference and size. "Skye, is this..."

 

She bites her lip, frowning a little, reluctance in her bones. "I... got it when I was reporting in Chechnya."

 

He stops mid-step, shocked he's right. Dragging her to the side of the dance floor, so the other couples wouldn't come crashing into them, concern marking his expression. "Skye." He didn't mask his surprise, pulling her close and turning her so that he can take a closer look. The bullet wound is scarred and barely noticeable, but his hand had felt it. He traces his finger over in repeatedly, as if trying to understand why anyone would try and shoot her.

 

"It was stupid. I was tracking a Hydra shipment. They've been selling guns to gangs and starting civil wars in smaller countries and towns, so I was trying to expose them. We got caught in the crossfire of a shooting and I ended up with this, and half a story."

 

She sounds so nonchalant he wants to shake some sense into her. "Skye, this is not stupid. You got shot! When the hell did this happen?"

 

"A year ago. It's not a big deal, it was barely even a bullet. Clean shot and easy recovery."

 

Maybe for a soldier, or a cop. But she was neither, and Grant doesn't believe for a minute that there is anything easy about the recovery. Tracing the entry wound in her back, he realizes that he hadn't seen an exit wound. Sure, he was distracted when they were in the dressing room, but he would have seen this. "They had to dig it out. I didn't see an exit wound, Skye. I can't believe...," he stopped. Wanting to chastise her for not telling him, but the conversation they had runs through his mind. He hadn't reached out to her. The only contact he'd made had been sending a wedding invitation. 

 

How could he miss this?

 

 

 

* 

 

 

 

 

Skye watches as Grant's face contorts in confusion. By all rights she can use this moment to remind him just how distant they had become, but she wants nothing more than to assure him that she is fine now. She'd lied to him, about how easy it had been, and he saw right through it. The bullet had been lodged in her shoulder, and a woman with nothing but a pair of tweezers had managed to yank it out, forcing her to stay off of her feet for a week or so. In that time she had not only lost her story, but also any leads she had.

 

"It's fine now. It healed up all right, and look, I'm good now." The concern in his eyes makes her ache. He'd spent the better part of the night as a silent partner. It's all fine for her, given that she had all the intentions of canceling the appointment tonight before guilt and curiosity lured her in. 

 

She had rejected his messages, his apology, and neglected him the entire week, wanting nothing more than some time to figure out what the hell she had gotten herself into. The news of Lorelei's departure made her even more nervous. She had been waiting for Lorelei to come stomping to her door calling her a home wrecker or something, but it turned into an uneventful week.

 

The logical part of her mind tells her to let it go. He's getting married, it is nothing more than a lapse of judgement on his part, she shouldn't go from Grant to Miles and back to Grant. But that logical part of her has been outvoted by the part of her that won't stop replaying the events of the previous week. It's that part of her that thinks doing something like ballroom dancing is not a smart idea. Initially she is so distracted by trying to get the steps right that she is unable to focus on the fact that they are inches apart. But somewhere along the line, the music picks up and apparently so does Grant.

 

She's not used to this kind of dancing. Her definition of going dancing consists of grinding up on a handsome stranger, and maybe even taking them home for the night. Despite the formalities, this feels ten times more intimate. But maybe it's because she's forced to look him in the eye, or maybe it's because it's Grant. 

 

It all goes to shit when she feels his finger tracing a familiar mark on her body. A moment she's not proud of, a moment that reminds her she isn't invincible or untouchable. 

 

"Really, it wasn't a big deal," she reassures him. 

 

Grant's concern doesn't fade, but he seems to give in to the idea that he's not going to extract more information from her. Instead his finger traces over the scar again, and this time she feels a familiar shiver run through her body. They're not focusing on things like dance moves or posture and form. They're standing still, but the world feels like it's spinning.

 

"I'm glad you're safe now." His hand doesn't move from its place, like a balm on an old wound he's trying to heal.

 

The memory of the injury, of how much blood had come from it and the pain she'd felt as Miles had dragged them both out of there and to the local clinic, plays like a vivid film in her mind. She shakes the thoughts away and grabs his other hand, "But you won't be if you don't practice these dance moves." She pulls them back onto the dance floor as Grant seems to recognize her reluctance in talking about the matter and follows suit with a sad smile on his face that feels painfully like pity.

 

They fall into the same steps, it feels a little more familiar now. 

 

It's not long the instructor calls them together and ends the class with a round of applause for everyone's hard work. Couples start to walk off before she sees a familiar face walk towards her. A petite woman with short black curls and a sultry smile waves dressed in a silk flower dress.

 

"Raina?"

 

"Skye!" The woman brings Skye in for a familiar hug, squeezing tight before letting go. "It's been so long. I haven't seen you since... Israel? I think?"

 

Nodding, she follows up with a quick introduction, pointing to Grant beside her. "Yeah, it's been so long! This is Grant, by the way. Grant Ward, meet my friend Raina."

 

Grant offers a hand courteously and raises an eyebrow, "Nice to meet you. Another Rising Tide reporter?"

 

Raina lets out a small laugh, shaking her head, "Good heavens no. I work for an independent agency. But we met in Israel when she was reporting." Her eyes judge Grant briefly, before coming back to Skye. "Well, when I ran into Miles a few months ago he told me you guys had already been broken up for a while, apparently it turned out well? Are congratulations in order?"

 

"What?" Skye retorts, a sudden cold sweat forming as the sensation of embarrassment prickles the back of her neck. "No. No. No."

 

Grant cuts in as she is violently shaking her head and repeating 'no' to Raina, "I think what she's trying to say is that she's my best man. My fiancée is out of town, and she's filling in." He covers for her easily enough, but she can read the dynamic shift between the three of them. 

 

Raina recognizes the change as well, nodding and smiling as she interprets the unspoken part of this conversation between them. To everyone back home, she had broken it off with Miles just a few weeks ago before returning to the states. Not many people knew that she ended things with Miles the day she found out about Grant's wedding months ago when they were still working together. Somehow the reality that she was never going to get what she truly wanted slapped some sense into her with what she was doing with Miles. The people who talk her these days assume that she is still recovering from a break up.

 

Grant definitely was not aware of what had actually happened, and he regards her with confusion. Even after he covered for her, his face held the same expression.

 

Thankfully a tall man came up behind Raina, calling her name with a paper cup in his hand full of water. "Here, Beautiful," he offered, before looking up at Skye and Grant. "Oh, hello."

 

Taking the opportunity handed to her by the gods, Skye introduces herself and her _friend_ Grant Ward. She and the man, whose name turns out to be Gordon, and Raina's fiancé, carry most of the conversation before Raina announces that they should probably clear out of the room. It's a good ten minutes later before they hug their goodbyes and she's left outside of the studio with Grant, who has only said polite niceties to Gordon and Raina.

 

"So when were you going to tell me you broke up with Miles months ago? I thought you guys just called it quits."

 

Good old Grant. Straight to the point. No tact at all. 

 

Wrapping her hands around her sides, she shrugged. "It wasn't something that I felt like I needed to broadcast."

 

"I guess, but how long has it been?"

 

"About four months."

 

"Oh." He seems to be thinking, and she waits for him to do the math in his head. Four months ago they announced their engagement. It takes him a second, calculating the month and where he was before he repeats again, "Oh," in an entirely different time.

 

"It wasn't just because of that." Liar. "We had been growing apart, and I just realized we weren't a good fit." Not to mention her mood had turned sour after the news, and any accidental future moments of her calling out Grant's name during sex would probably not be taken as well as it had been before.

 

He moves closer to her, the florescent light from the dance studio sign lights both of them in harsh shadows. "So, it wasn't because of my engagement?"

 

She wants to kick him for being on the nose. Or maybe kiss him all over again. "I don't know, not completely." She backs up, his movement causes a chain reaction from her. The last thing they need to be is close to one another again. "We had our problems. I didn't want to bother people with my issues, especially since they had basically been resolved."

 

"Yeah, but I would have liked to know."

 

Part of her wonders if he wanted to know so that he could have a chance with her again. It was a childish hope, but the potential lingers and she almost wishes she could go back in time and test that theory. "It's over now." She tucks her hair behind her ear before filling the following silence with what she's been wanting to mention all night. "Look, I don't want things to be awkward between us. I don't know what got into me last time. And I've been spending this past week freaking out that Lorelei is going to come to my door and throw acid in my face or something."

 

This elicits a choking laugh from Grant, whose face had been serious up until now. "It's okay. It wasn't one-sided." He scratches at the back of his neck, awkward. "And, honestly with the shit that Lorelei pulls sometimes, what we did is nothing in comparison."

 

Skye frowns. What? Nothing? It feels like it should be an insult, but it sounds almost pained. "Wait, what? What do you mean?"

 

His expression changes immediately, like he's revealed some secret meant to be kept locked away. "Nothing. No, it's nothing."

 

"If what we did is nothing in comparison. What the hell does she do?"

 

He shakes his head, shrugging.

 

"Wait. Does she still sleep around?" Lorelei was never loyal to just one person, she had assumed that Grant had changed that about her.

 

He sighs, taking a half step back.

 

"Are you kidding me? She's cheating on you?"

 

"It's not like she's going to keep doing it when we get married."

 

"Right, because that's a good reason to keep up the charade."

 

"It's not a charade, Skye."

 

"Well, then what the hell is it? Why are you still in this relationship? You could be with anyone else! How can you even stay with her when she treats you like this?"

 

He opens his mouth to say something back, their volume escalated and the reverberation of their argument bounces off of the walls and back into their ears. Skye waits for him to retort something back, tell her a reason why he is in a relationship with someone who cheats on him, why he's dragging himself through the mud. His jaw clenches shut instead and he looks upset. "It's not that simple, Skye. She's got it all planned. We're committed to the marriage, maybe not to one another, but to the union. Commitment is something that happens between adults."

 

She hears the edged tone. Adults. Because she could never really get a handle on things like commitment. He was throwing his mistakes back at her. "If that's commitment, some kind of weird relationship where it's ok to sleep around with other people, then I can't believe you would want it. That's not you."

 

"You don't know me anymore. You said that. Things changed."

 

"No one changes that much. What the hell happened to you?"

 

Grant scoffs, taking a step back and then another. He backs away from her. "You left. You decided that you were scared of something or something between us. That's what happened. You left to go chase stories and go to places where I couldn't protect you and be with you." Regret paints his face, as he increases the distance between them, his face shrouded in shadows. He points to the parking lot across the street. "I parked over there, I have to go home and feed the dog. Good night, Skye."

 

She's left standing alone in front of the studio feeling like she's been shot again. 

 

 


	5. and you left her all alone, and never told her why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confessions are made. apologies are given. grant ward has a choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow burn only satisfies me for so long before i devolve into complete trashy smut. actions have consequences and we'll deal with that in the next chapter. for now, i just wanted some sort of reconciliation and it was inevitable that i chose this.

He doesn't wait a week. He doesn't even wait a day. Grant Ward sits in his car, parked a mile down the road from the dance studio as the impact of the past hour hits him full force like a freight train. 

 

His fingers remember tracing the edge of a bullet wound. His eyes recall the small smile that warms her eyes and reminds him of why he first felt himself crashing headlong into her. His mind remembers running his hands up past the pattern of exposed ribs, as her drank in her lips on his. 

 

But it's the bitter echo of her words that rings in his ears that forces him to face the reality that he hated to confront. _What the hell happened to you_? _How can you even stay with her when she treats you like this?_

 

He realizes that she's the only person he's ever truly told about Lorelei's infidelity. Sure people had suspected, but no one approached him about it, and he never spilled his secrets. With her, somehow, he always felt like he needed to bare his soul to her.

 

Unwelcome memories rush back of before this all happened, before Lorelei, before Miles, before bullets, before weddings. When he was just a boy living down the hall from a girl in a less than impressive apartment complex. Somehow they'd managed to become friends, the adopted orphan with the soul of a wild child and the black sheep who barely recognized who he was in the reflection of a mirror.

 

_So, what's the plan? What do you want to be when you grow up?_

 

He hears himself chuckle, a younger face and a skinnier frame shrugs. _Aren't we already grown up?_

 

 _Hell no! I'm never growing up_. _You shouldn't either._

 

She sounds like Peter Pan luring Wendy into Neverland. He guesses in this case that makes him Mr. Wendy Darling. 

 

_I'm supposed to go work in government. The family business. Probably run for office if my parents can help it._

 

It sounds impossibly sad and demure, and his memory replays the honest faced girl with honey brown eyes that colored in sympathy as she reaches out for his hand. She touches him for the first time, it's gentle and full of empathy. _Is that what you want?_

 

Even now he couldn't answer that question. By all rights his mother and father never forced him down any path. He was simply walking the well-paved road that had been set down by many Wards before him. He remembers the day he suggests going into International Law. It might be influenced by Skye's voracious hunger for justice and information, but she sucks him into it too. 

 

She's overjoyed.

 

He remembers the day he mentions it to Lorelei.

 

She's less than impressed. _But you'll be away from me all the time. I mean, I'll support you in whatever you want, but I don't want to be dragged around the world. I like my home. Don't you? Don't you want to stay with me?_

 

By then Skye was half-way around the world, and he couldn't convince himself that part of the reason he wanted to get away was to somehow collide into her again. But Lorelei was right. It was no way to live. So he stayed the course, abandoned his focus and looked towards something else. 

 

Three years later and he looked at nearly half a decade of regret. The drive home is agonizing. Skye brings back painful, unhealed scars. Not only from his time with her, but the inherent flaws in his engagement. He hears his mother ask him, _Is this what you really want?_

 

The question repeats as he closes in on his apartment. Parked in his driveway he's staring blankly at the condo he shares with Lorelei. It feels unwelcome, cold. It's never really felt like home. Instead of getting out, he backs out of the driveway, the question hammering in his head.

 

What do you really want? What the hell happened to you?

 

That gaping hole in his heart feels so familiar now. It's never properly healed because it never wanted to be. Even in his happiest moments with Lorelei (and yes, sometimes there were some happy moments) the gaping hole reminded him that he was incomplete. Hollow.

 

It's a familiar route. He took it every day for over four years of his life. The same dilapidated apartment complex that's been gentrified since they moved out, but he knows he'll find that part of him here. He drives through the complex four times, making the slow rounds because anxiety builds up in his chest and he never quite makes it to parking. The fifth bout around and he sees the light on in the living room. 

 

She's changed.

 

And yet, that couldn't be further from the truth. She looks older. She has her scars. Her hair is different. Her clothes are different. But she's still the same wild child. The same part of him that has been missing for so long. The gaping hole aches to be whole with its counter part. It makes him park and get out of the car.

 

It doesn't really register in his mind what is happening until he gets to her front door. He doesn't get nervous anymore, despite his short comings as far as interest went he was still an orator and wordsmith. He was as much the politician as he wished he could deny it sometimes. But standing in front of her door, the smell of a storm in the atmosphere, he felt scared stiff. 

 

He was ready to turn around, leave. Their argument was still too fresh, this would be salt on the wound.

 

But he barely makes a half turn when the door opens of its own accord, and his heart leaps into his throat as he is confronted with Skye holding a drink in her hand and a trash bag in the other. Somewhere in the distance there is a clap of thunder and he tries not to link the odious sound to her discovering him.

 

Skye stares him down, her mouth gaping for longer than a few minutes until she mouths his name.

 

"Skye," he breathes, apologetic and devotional.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

It's been less than a few hours, he's driven in circles repeating their argument in his head and replaying memories of them. She looks at him incredulously. She waits expectedly, waiting for an answer as she stands in front of the open door to her apartment. 

 

Still exactly the same. His is two doors down and he can remember back to a time when they'd take walks together to the trash can three buildings away, chatting about their roommates and joking about the crazed man who inhabited the convenience store down the street.

 

"I'm here because, you're right."

 

She frowns. She looks suspicious as she glances down the hall and around them as if searching for some trick. "I'm often right. What are you talking about?"

 

"No one changes that much."

 

He repeats her words and she looks immediately uncomfortable. She probably hadn't expected him to be so blunt, but he was making up for lost time. Mentally he noted that it had been a week since he'd last kissed her, and before that three years. He had to make up for a lot of lost time.

 

"I don't want to talk about this Grant. You said your piece. I'm sorry but I don't think I can keep up with this. You're going to have to find someone else. I'm a shitty best man, and I don't want to keep going in these circles." She makes a move to step around him, taking a gulp of what looks and smells like half coke half rum.

 

He doesn't move. He doesn't block her exit, but he doesn't make it easy for her to slip by. "No. I haven't said my piece. I need to tell you the truth. I can't go forward unless I deal with this."

 

"I'm not your therapist, Grant. I'm not an outlet you can spew words at. I don't give a shit about Lorelei."

 

He stops her as she makes to walk down the stairs. "No, Skye. You don't get it. I don't either."

 

She stops, her eyebrows furrow, and there is confusion written across her face as lightening strikes and thunder booms overhead. The ironic setting of this conversation is not lost on him. "What are you saying?"

 

"I'm saying, you left. And I let you go. I should have gone after you. I should have done something. I shouldn't have let you go. I don't love Lorelei. She's gotten worse since the engagement, and I don't care that she cheats on me because she's like a stranger." Words spill out of him and he feels suddenly vulnerable to her stoic countenance, though her eyes waver between confusion and frustration, watery and expressive.

 

Tilting up her chin, she clenches her jaw a little. "What if I don't feel the same way anymore?"

 

The thought never occurred to him. But her suggestion feels like a swift kick in the gut. The creeping heat of humiliation colors the base of his neck with warmth.

 

"Would you marry her? If I told you I don't feel the same way anymore? That I'm not in love with you?"

 

Well, that's the million dollar question isn't it? Hours ago he would have said that without Skye in the picture, he would have married Lorelei. Accepted his fate and seen how the cards could be dealt in his favor. But, the hour driving had done him some good, even if she rejected him now. "No. I don't want to think about what I have to deal with in the future, but I can't keep lying to myself that I'm going to eventually be happy with her."

 

Her expression is unreadable and for a few minutes he believes that she doesn't love him anymore. That all of this was friendly concern. But she drops the bag of trash and takes a few steps towards him. The sound of water droplets hitting the leaves of the trees in the complex grow as rain starts sprinkling down.

 

"And what if I told you that I wish that I hadn't left? That I wished I didn't run away after that night? That even running away to the other side of the world wasn't enough?"

 

Grant takes her in, as she looks up with an unsure expression that makes him wish they hadn't waited for for this moment to admit something that had been bubbling beneath the surface all along. His hand touches the softest skin beneath her jaw at her neck and combs his fingers up into the roots of her hair at the base of her skull. She lets him draw her in.

 

"I'd say that I felt the same. That I only asked you to take on this ridiculous position because I selfishly wanted you by my side again." He takes the perspiring drink out of her hand and puts it on the railing so her hands are free.

 

"That I was unreasonably jealous of a man I never met because you chose him over me." He draws her closer with a hand at her waist, the air between them electric and heated despite the cooling rain.

 

"That I settled with Lorelei because I tried to trick myself into forgetting you." She's inches away, and he wants to stop regretting the time lost between them because now she's in his arms. Cupping her face, he feels her hands slide up his chest, pulling him down to meet her with her hands at his neck.

 

It's tender, she traces her tongue over his bottom lip before he can deepen the kiss when her lips breathe a sigh. Tightening his hold on her, he leans her back, curling down in a different angle, dragging her lower lip between his teeth to tease before biting down a little causing a mewl from Skye.

 

She runs her fingers through his hair and he's reminded of just how familiarly erotic the feeling is when memories of their first time together invade his thoughts. She pushes him backwards into the apartment, he's happy enough to let her lead as his fingers slip below the cotton fabric of her flannel shirt.

 

"Skye," he whispers into her. She bites his lip in return, raking her fingers down his back and sliding her fingers under the waistband of his jeans, past his boxers and against bare skin.

 

Her fingers hook on and bring him closer before the hand returns and slides south, above the denim to the part of him that has become achingly hard at the memory of her touch. "Eager," she teases, a grin on her face. He chuckles harshly, the sensation of her touch too overwhelming to play it cool.

 

"Forgive me?" she asks, her hand regrettably moving away from his cock and up his waist, they grazed over abs and moved along the sinew of his back, memorizing parts of him.

 

He shakes his head in reply. "We both made mistakes. I should have pursued you, but I didn't."

 

"Were you intimidated?" Skye asks jokingly, her arms wrapped around him, as she looks up at him with the ghost of a smirk.

 

"Maybe," he admits. "Scared you didn't feel the same. That nothing would be the same afterwards." Adding to the lifelong joke that, in the fact, nothing was ever the same afterwards.

 

Her hand finds his face, and she looks at him, earnest and frank. "I do, Grant. Just to clarify. I feel the same."

 

He doesn't need to respond. Grant pulls her up into another kiss, crashing into her this time with some lack of control as he walks her back and slams the front door behind her so that he and pin her to it. Outside rain pours as the lights flicker out and their world plunges into darkness.

 

They barely notice.

 

 

 

 

* 

 

 

 

 

His hands, cruelly repentant, if there was ever a thing, roughly roam over her. Skye let out a small moan as his bruising kisses moved from her lips down to the sharp clavicle and his hands swiftly yanked the button up open in one sharp tear. She inwardly thanks the karmic intervention that chose the snap-on button-up flannel over the hoodie she almost wore. The wisp of lace underneath is barely anything, some pale imitation that makes Grant's eyes hungry in the darkness. Watching her, eyes clouded in desire, he slowly draws his hands up her waist before curving over the ridges of her ribs and arriving at her chest, thumb slips under the frothy material, teases the nipple to achingly hard tips. He pinches it hard enough for her to bite down on her lip, trying to glare at him with a punishing look. He smiles wickedly before pulling his hand away. 

 

Skye doesn't have enough pride to hold back a small noise of disapproval. But he reaches down, and picks her up, cupping her ass firmly as she wraps her legs around his hips and he pulls her in, carrying them to the closest surface he can find, which happens to be her dinner table. It's a fold out and a paltry excuse for dining, perhaps an even more unstable environment for what they were about to embark on, but logic is not the dominant force right now.

 

He props her on the table, before she yanks off the shirt and tosses it to the side. He pulls her forward to the edge, beginning his assault on her with his lips. This time his hand drags down the material of the bralette, shelving her breasts at his eye level. He takes one in his hand, teasing with his fingers as he rolls the nipple between his index and thumb. The other receives full attention from his mouth. He envelops her nipple and part of her breast in his mouth, suckling briefly, letting his teeth teasingly scrape against the delicate skin while the coarseness of his beard scratched at the delicate skin. It's wet and hot, sending a shock of heat through her, and she bites her lip to keep from moaning out the pleasure she feels when he teases her again with a pinch of pleasurable pain. 

 

"Grant," she pleads. An hour ago they were arguing, now she felt the distinctive thrumming of her own blood pumping through her veins, the hum traveling directly to the juncture between her legs. His tongue teases, as he pulls away from her, leaving the cold air to bite at where his lips and fingers were. He looked at her, eyes glittering in the dark with desire, reflected only by the purple-black sky through the glass doors of the apartment. His gaze travelled up her body, examining his handy work before forming a stupidly triumphant grin. As if they were even close to being over, she thought.

 

Skye pulls him in by his shirt, bringing his head down for a harsh kiss before yanking the shirt off over his head and lobbing it in a general direction. She didn't try to hide her approval, as her hands slid up his abs and brought him flush to her. "I definitely missed this," her fingers traced his torso, guiding over small hills and valleys of admirable muscle.

 

"That makes two of us." His hand running over her from her neck down her shoulders. His hand pauses on the scar, the bullet wound. It doesn't sting anymore, but somehow his touch sears her. He twists her torso a little to look at the scar, she feels more exposed now with her shoulder to him than with her tits propped up on some skanky lingerie. But he leans in and places a small kiss on the starburst of a scar, trailing up from the back of her shoulder to her jugular to her jaw and back to her lips.

 

She is on fire, and it's all his fault. As their tongues spar, he slips a hand between them, splitting her legs apart as he slides a hand underneath the band of the leggings she had put on. The matching panties are barely in existence and as he drags two fingers down the front, she acknowledges that they are completely soaked. It's not the first time some guy has felt her up, and it's not even the first time that that guy has been Grant Ward. "Fuck," she curses, when he pushes the fabric to the sides and slides a finger between the folds, meeting the tender bundle of nerves that makes her clutch him. She's been surviving off of the memory of his touch, the ghost of that friction and heat, for the past three years. The reality is like a drug. 

 

"Oh, did you like that?" he taunts, his voice barely a whisper. She digs her nails into his back hard enough to leave marks. It triggers a chain reaction, in him brushing a knuckle against her clit again and slipping in two fingers through the wet folds. 

 

She moans back in response. He catches her with his own mouth, as he slips another digit in, while his thumb teases her clit, flicking back and forth causing undulating waves of heat. His tongue mimics his tormenting hand, and it's all she can do to claw her nails into him as some sort of relief. His hand moves with deft skill, sliding fingers in that repetitive motion while his thumb seemed to only increase in the speed of movement when she felt her body lock up. She bevels her hips forward against his knuckle and hand, the table shaking a little beneath them. She clutches onto his shoulders as she feels the explosive crescendo to the climax as he rasps her name underneath his breath. "Oh god," she manages, when her cunt tightens around him and she feels the sharp height of her relief from the pit of her stomach down to the numbing tips of her toes. 

 

He slows his movement, riding the last waves of her orgasm before bringing that hand to his lips and licking her off of him. He's been watching her this whole time, and she can imagine the restraint he's put himself through, but satisfaction colors his face as he sucks her off of his fingertips and brings her in for a victorious kiss. She sweeps her tongue inside his mouth tasting herself.

 

Pulling away, regarding him, as her hand slides down and over the denim that imprisons a painfully hard cock. She pouts a little, sympathy for the devil and all that, and he swallows hard in response. She pops a button at the top of the jeans and unzips it slowly, letting her fingers graze over him. The hard evidence of his desire is gratifying as his jaw clenches shut at her touch. Pulling the band of his boxers down, she pulls his cock out slowly with her hand, it's velvet steel in her hands and she is hot all over again. Her hand runs up and down, keeping just tight enough of a grip for him to unleash a low growl in response before watching her as she let her thumb roll over the tip. The length of him twitches involuntarily in her hands as she smirks, watching him suffer the same medicine he had just doled out to her. 

 

But she's aching again, he's throbbing in her hand, but she still wants to be selfish. Her hand unleashes him as he lets out an exasperated sound. Still riding on the adrenaline of her first climax, she is eager to have more. She holds him back acknowledging how desperate he looks with his cock standing at full attention in front of her as she sits on the table. She reaches around his back into his pocket and yanks out his wallet, where she knows there will be some form of protection. Grant watches her with unbridled lust, there is nothing stopping her, definitely not on his end. His hands are in clenched fists as if he needs her to get back to the task at hand ASAP. She rips open the packet and rolls it onto him as his hands reach her waist band and pull down the pants with no small measure of force. She kicks off her pants and undies while the table tremors at her sudden and violent movement, and reaches behind her to unclasp the meaningless bralette that she's kept on. 

 

They both seem to acknowledge that it is absurd for them to be fucking for the first time in forever on her rickety kitchen table during a power outage, during what possibly might be a category 5 hurricane hitting the city. But it's the thought of a moment, before he pulls down his pants, too impatient to properly remove them as he yanks one leg out for the sake of flexibility and neglects the other. She's wet and sore all over, leaning back so that he can be drawn closer. 

 

"Skye?" he asks for permission, as if she isn't literally serving herself up to him like Thanksgiving dinner.

 

She throws back a wild smile, something careless. "Yes. Now please, I really need you to fuck me."

 

A moronic grin paints his face, as he pulls her close for the thousandth time, this time with a hand between them to guide himself into her. It's nothing like the first time. The first time was tender, unfamiliar, awkward. It exposed themselves to one another and confessed honesty where they hadn't been able to voice them. This is nothing like that.

 

They both manage some measure of restraint, before she runs her hands through his hair and pulls him down by the neck. He thrusts hard into her, eliciting a moan from both of them. He buries himself into her, deep, until he reaches the hilt. She marvels at the sensation that is both so familiar and foreign. It's tight and she can feel him within her, it just feels _right_. It's not long before she nudges him on with her hips, begging for some sort of friction, or else she might go mad. Grant is more than happy to comply, pulling out in near full before plunging back in. The repetitive thrust shakes the table beneath them, as she wraps a leg around him for some stability, moaning out his name. 

 

"Grant. Fuck." 

 

It sounds like an order, but if it is he has already taken the initiative. He lays her down for a better angle, cradling her in his arm (they can admit later that perhaps it would have been a better idea to just have started this on the bed). She feels him increase in speed as she senses herself tighten around him, the same tingling surmounting within her. The world feels like it's coming apart outside and so is she. He's repeating her name in her ear, as she pulls him in closer for an embrace, feeling the rough prickle of his beard against the side of her face as he thrusts one more time before they both spiral into a welcoming oblivion.

 

The creak of the table beneath them gives out, and in a jarring epilogue to the current events, they crash hard into the ground beneath them. It takes a moment for them to notice, to realize that the world seems to also be crumbling down beneath them and they are no longer propped on the table. They are both too hypnotized by the delicious satisfaction that they enjoy before they realize what is going on. Grant pulls himself up from the crook of her neck, they are sweat slicked and on a table that sadly needs replacing, but he can't seem to wipe the cocky, shit-eating grin off of his face. 

 

"Sorry about the table."

 

Skye lets out a laugh, before shaking her head. "Never liked it anyways. Wasn't really sturdy, you know?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> Always interested to read comments about what you guys think, so shower me with those and kudos!  
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://breaddalton.tumblr.com)


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